


The Past Wasn't Glorious

by BrilliantDragons



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dark Past, Exiled Tommyinnit, Found Family, Gen, anxiety attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28536906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrilliantDragons/pseuds/BrilliantDragons
Summary: Ghostbur remembers, and he doesn't want to. But it's hard to forget things, especially when everyone apparently won't stop bugging him about it.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	The Past Wasn't Glorious

He remembers.

He remembers, and he doesn’t want to.

It’s better some days, worse others. Sometimes it’s all clear, and he remembers everything, even if he doesn’t want to. Others, it’s so blurry that he can barely think, barely breathe, barely exist.

Most days, though, it’s a feeling of déjà vu, a constant tingling in the back of his mind, an unspoken, unknown thing on the tip of his tongue.

The worst days, however, he isn’t himself.

 _Wilbur._ Or Alivebur. That’s what he refers to the past him now, considering that he is much, much different now.

Some took it better than others. In fact, some seemed downright joyful about it, which made him happy. Because that’s what he wants, right? No one really _liked_ Alivebur… right? No one.

(Or at least that’s what he _tells_ himself.)

And everyone seems to have adjusted well. Which is good. He just wants everyone to be happy.

Plus, they have bigger problems then an amnesiac ghost who follows everyone around like a cheery, charming cloud.

The blue helps. Sometimes.

He was asked; _if it absorbs sadness… are_ you _sad?_

He is confused that it is that color some days, he’ll admit.

But… ha! No. Perfectly silly, that idea was. Had anyone _met_ him? He was, if anything, the cheeriest person in the group. Everyone else was filled with painful memories and angst and sadness. He was free and light as a cloud.

(He’s _not_ sad, he’s _not!_ )

But then again… if he isn’t sad, why is the blue like that? Why is it never transparent?

Is there something wrong with it?

Or… or _him?_

No, he tells himself. _I’m fine. I really only have happy memories._

Then why is he so scared to remember? Why?

And why does he always avoid the questions?

Why does he keep running?

He _is_ a ghost, after all. Ghosts are dead. They shouldn’t have to run. They should be able to have no worries at all. Untethered.

Free.

“Who was I? How bad of a person _was_ I?”

The latter question had already been asked. But he still asked. He still wanted an answer to the questions.

He sat on a hill, knees pulled against his chest. He stared over a lake, a calm blue that was paired with the fiery orange-pink of the sunset.

He loved the sunset. It was calming, beautiful, gentle. It felt like some kind of promise of another day, a victory of beating the one you’d just gone through, no matter how horrible it had been.

A sunset was a milestone.

And they were always different, every day, in some way or form.

He loved watching the sun slowly sink, slowly creep for the horizon, before it sank down into nothing, into a blissful sleep until the next day.

In some ways, the sun was like him.

He didn’t really need sleep, anyways. Not anymore. Not since… well.

But he _could_ sleep if he wanted to.

He usually didn’t want to.

_Because of the dreams._

He shook his head, as if trying to shake away his old life. Like he could shake away the cobwebs, the lingering bits of his mind.

_I’m not blue. Not sad. Not hurting._

_I’m not_ him.

He isn’t Alivebur- Wilbur?- anymore, and he needs to accept that. He needs to.

But for some reason he can’t.

“What was the past like?”

Tommy glanced up, clearly startled by the question. His young face, slightly dirty, twitched a little, as if restraining a sneeze.

“What?” the boy asked. He was so young, so sad looking. Had _he_ ever been that sad? He didn’t remember.

(Or he didn’t want to. He pushed that thought away.)

“I mean… when everything was going wrong. With me.”

Tommy shifted. His clothes are ragged now, a little torn at parts. Bags lingered under his eyes, painfully seeable.

_I had bags. I had bags a lot._

So... he knew what it was like, right?

_Wilbur! WILBUR!_

Tommy seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, which gave him a little bit more time to focus on Tommy’s appearance. His posture indicated his emotional state; horrible. As much as he wanted to avoid it, Tommy had almost instantly changed, a painful knot growing inside of him, made of sadness and pain and betrayal and anger. It wasn’t good for someone so young to have that burdening emotion.

_But didn’t I feel those things young?_

**_Shut up._** He told himself.

“I…” Tommy is speaking again, which pulls him back to the present in a jerking motion. He swallowed. Tommy swallowed.

“It was better times back then, considering… what we’re going through now.”

He knew what that meant, and wanted to hug the kid. He kept his face neutral, however.

“But… I suppose… back then, I… well, it wasn’t… well… I-”

“Tommy?”

“The past wasn’t glorious.” Tommy said in a rush, as if afraid he might not get it out if he didn’t say it then.

Tommy sighed. “It was… scary isn’t the word? It was more tense than anything. You- Wil- _Alivebur_ was drawn tight as a bowstring, growing more and more unstable. It worried all of us, everyone, but it was… almost like we were to afraid to say anything about it? It was like watching the sun fall, watching glass shatter.”

Tommy had been fiddling with a stray piece od string, but, perhaps seeing the look he shot him, stilled his hands.

“Glass?” he asked, feeling a little pit grow in his stomach.

“Yeah,” Tommy muttered darkly, looking at the ground. Something like guilt flashed across his features, but only for a moment. “Something like that.”

“But…”

“Why are you asking, anyways?” Tommy interrupted, and he paused. “You usually avoid this subject.”  
“I was… curious.” he decided to say.

He decided not to say that the reason was because of his dreams. Everything had been horrible lately.

His dreams were plagued with pained, strained, blurry memories. He lately had been waking up outside with no idea how he’d gotten there, or somewhere on the ground, inside or out, with his blue scattered around him, or he’d wake up in bed with a pained throat, like he’d been screaming, and a tear-stained face.

Tommy studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. He shrugged. “Okay, man.”

He relaxed. Tommy didn’t know.

However, a small part of him hurts at the realization.

He wants him to know.

But he doesn’t.

And the worst thing is, he doesn’t really know how to tell him.

They’re all mad at Techno.

L’manburg’s air has changed. The air is charged with tension and anger- the smell of humiliated people who aren’t getting what they want and are ready to get revenge.

He remembers the scent. But there’s more.

Fear? He can’t put a finger on it, mostly because of his own mind. It pushes every dark thought from his mind, reminding him in an almost-whisper; _Don’t remember. You can’t. Not again. Not ever._

Phil- his father- his _killer_ \- is on house arrest, stuck inside his house. An iron ankle monitor is clamped around his foot.

Phil was on the balcony when they came to L’manburg with the captured Techno, when they tried to… kill him.

 _Kill._ He shuddered at the word, which caused Phil to shoot him an odd look from the lawn nearby. Friend was on a lead that lead to Phil’s hand as the two stood in the light rain.

He almost regretted shearing Friend. The poor sheep looked odd and cold, not their usual blue color. He swallowed, watching them from the deck and trying not to flinch every time a raindrop landed near him.

Phil shifted from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable. He didn’t understand why Phil couldn’t leave his house. That wasn’t fair to his father.

Friend finally bent down to the ground, chewing on some grass. Instantly, the coat regrew.

Feeling relief pound over him, he straightened with a smile. “Oh, good, Friend! Phil, come on back inside!”

Phil already moving back towards his house while drawing his monitor from his inventory, shot him a look, as if to say _What do you_ think _I’m doing?_

When he peeked down the ladder space to see Phil and Friend entering, the monitor was back on and Friend looks fluffy and blue once again.

Phil held up a hand, making him pause as he started to clamber down the ladder. Phil wriggled his shoulders slightly,then shook his sopping wet self like some kind of dog.

Three stray droplets of water fly at him and touch him, and with three sizzling hisses, he jerks back towards the welcoming open space of the balcony.

“Oh, sorry!” Phil said, looking alarmed. His father’s hands twitched slightly, eyes flicking to the ground briefly.

“It’s okay, it’s fine, fine fine fine. It’s-” He shuddered violently, a distant voice- from the past?- saying the same thing to him in the depths of his mind.

Phil misread the shudder. He stepped back a little, looking deeply ashamed and worried. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

 _“Phil,”_ he interrupted sharply, his usually echoey, distant voice sounding much more like Alivebur’s. “It’s okay. It was just three drops.”

Phil shifted again, still looking uncomfortable.

“Thank you for taking Friend out, Phil.” he said softly, trying to regain control of his emotions. He clambered down, ignoring the sting in his arms as he ran his fingers through Friend’s wooly coat gently. The sheep nuzzled affectionately against his chest.

“You’re welcome. I risked a lot to do that, you know.” Phil said, muttering the last sentence.

But he isn’t listening. He just looked at Friend, who is blue just like him.

He and Friend are so close to home. Almost to the cabin.

He can’t stop thinking about Tommy and Techno. He’s praying that the two of them are safe. If there’s any kind of god out there, he prays that he will protect his friends.

But the thing is… he’s praying to protect them from his _other_ friends.

 _What is the world turning into?_ He wondered.

Lost in his thoughts, he loosens his grip on the lead attached to Friend, and the sheep jerks away.

He stumbled from the jerking impact. “Wh- FRIEND! Friend, WAIT!” he shouted, lunging for the lead. The sheep sauntered away into the woods cheerfully.  
Standing in shock for a moment, he ran after the sheep.

The woods were one of the denser, bigger woods, but there were few times that he’d been happier that he’d dyed Friend blue.

Every time he thought he’d lost the sheep, he’d spot the blue movement from somewhere and immediately redirected his course.

This was, however, one of those forests that could probably cause the death of an unwary mob like Friend. He ran harder at the thought.

Friend suddenly dove through a bunch of bushes. He made a desperate noise, diving after the sheep through the brushes, and froze in his tracks.

They were in a large clearing, with cheerful flowers that opened up to a flowery plains field. The sun was nice and bright, and a few bees floated about.

Friend munched on some grass, the lead undone on the ground from their dive through the bushes. He let out a small, relieved sigh, picking up the lead and fastening it around Friend again with a tentative smile.

“You really had me worried there, Friend,” he said softly.

Friend bleated, looking content to relax and not try to run away anymore.

“We’re quite off track now, though.” he muttered, glancing around. He vaguely remembered seeing a flower field before, so he couldn’t be _completely_ off track.

As he looked around, his gaze fell to something on the ground.

A book.

He cocked his head, interested, moving towards it. The cover was face up, making him study the title.

 _Things I Remember_ , the book was titled.

Something itched in his mind.

His nose twitched.

He wiggled his shoulder, feeling like something cold was slipping down his spine.

Then he saw the author.

_By Ghostbur_

The world dropped away. He inhaled sharply.

That… was _him._ _He_ wrote that.

_Then why can I not remember writing it?! Why can I not remember?_

“What…?” he murmured quietly, reaching for it.

The second his hands closed around the book, the world slipped away, pulling him into the past.

_What kind of a person_ **_are_ ** _you?_

_“Traitor!”_

_“If I can’t have L’manburg-”_

**_“SALLY!”_ **

A rush of images, a little fox, a young boy with a smile, an anthropormorphic pig, a scream, tears rushing down a face, giggles and smiles.

_I’m sorry!  
Who was I?_

_I was nobody,_

**_“TRAITOR!”_ **

He could barely think, barely breathe. The world spun, confusing and unreal. Nothing was real. Only memories, melting and reforming, scenes flashing and being real and not real.

_“It was never meant to be.”_

_“PHIL!_ **_PHIL!_ ** _DAD!”_

_“Toooommmmmmyyyyy, where_ **_are_ ** _you?”_

The smell of bread, people cheering, people crying, the feeling of wind and the smell of salt. The sun rising, the smell of books, a big explosion.

The world spun, he couldn’t think, the ground no longer existed. He was lost in a swirl, the pain of the past dragging him down.

_I’m not sad, not blue. I’m okay, okay, okay._

_NOTHING IS OKAY!_

_“Hey, Fundy!”_

_“Brown was Sally’s favorite color.”_

_“Friend,”_

_“FRIEND,”_

**_“FRIEND!”_ **

_“You’re my friend, aren’t you?”_

_“Have you not noticed? Everyone who’s claiming to be on our side, they’re lying to us!”_

_“If we can’t have L’manburg, then_ **_NO ONE, NO ONE_ ** _can have Manburg!”_

A sword in his gut, blood rushing over, a lightheaded feeling, an armory, a ravine, a familiar place that he called home, a uniform, an election.

_“Independance or death.”_

_“If we get no independence, we get nothing.”_

He just wanted everything to end. Wanted to melt into nothing, accept the dark sleep, accept the pain and hopelessness.

There was nothing to do. He couldn’t think. The past was overwhelmed with emotions, fear and hate and anger and pain. Nothing could compare to the feelings and heartache that crashed over his head like waves, over and over and over again.

_“Wilbur!”_

_“Friend!”_

_“Enemy!”_

_“Traitor!”_

_“Brother!”_

_“Son!”_

**_“GHOSTBUR!”_ **

And suddenly, he was alive again, breathing, and the world hurt, paining and changing.

He was hurting, crying, paining. It felt like he was feeling emotions from everything all at once, breath taken away from him.

Technoblade was standing in front of him, the cursed book. Ghostbur’s breath came short as he scrambled away, nothing but a whimper tearing itself from his mouth.

“Ghostbur, breathe.” Techno’s sharp, gruff voice cut through his pain and terror.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I swear, I didn’t- I-”

“GHOSTBUR.” Techno’s voice anchored him again, and he halted the words, though shivers and tremors still violently coursed through his body. The pig had crouched in front of the ghost, eyes sharp, attention yanking, but gentle. For him, Ghostbur knew, they would always be gentle.

“Look at me,” he said sternly, but Ghostbur did not miss the worry in his voice, or the way he slipped the book into his inventory, trying to be nonchalant about the action.

He caught it, though. He caught everything. Just like before.

The memories began to pull on him again, bogging him down. Techno reached out, shoving his hand through Ghostbur’s arm, which made it feel like he had fire shoved into his arm (how had he stood being so warm when he was alive? People were _hot_.)

“Techno- the war- the withers- they-”

“Shut up. Ghostbur, shut up. Stop thinking about that. Breathe. Look at me.”

Techno kept holding the ghost’s gaze, forcing him to keep eye contact.

“Look at me,” Techno said again, gentler this time. “Breathe. In and out. I don’t care if you’re a ghost. Dead or alive, you’ve always been prone to ignore people’s help and keep going on with your panic attacks.”  
“Shut up. I never refuse help.” Ghostbur protested, his indignation pulling him back to reality evern more firmly.

Techno chuckled. “So stubborn.”  
“So dorky.”

“So hilarious.”

“Such a dork.”

_“Idiot,”_ they both insisted at the same.

For a long moment there was silence. Ghostbur decided to focus on his breathing, finding himself growing calmer and coming to himself more and more.

Finally, silence reigned. The panic had stopped, but the memories still ached.

“I spent so long trying to shut them out,” he whispered, voice hollow. It was echoey, unfamiliar. He really hadn’t been a ghost for a long time, compared to how long he’d been alive for.

_Had._

_HAD._

**_HAD._ **

“Ghostbu-”

“So long trying to deny that I was sad.”

“But you _are_ ,” Techno said, sadness flitting across his features for a brief moment. “You weren’t really fooling anyone, you know. Especially the ones who knew you well. Who _know_ you well.”

“I just- I didn’t mean- I-”

“I know,” Techno said quickly, voice quiet. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, but we forgive you. We did long ago. Because you’re not him.”

“I’m _not_ , right, I’m-” And then he stopped. Ghostbur stared at Techno, Friend moving around out of the corner of his eye.

_I’m not him. Right?_

_I’m not Wilbur._

_Wilbur is dead._

_I’m a ghost._

_And I’m different._

_I’m different now._

“Ghostbur?”

Ghostbur jerked away from his friend, eyes wide. _I’m_ ** _not_** _Wilbur Soot._

“I’m not Wilbur,” he whispered. But he wasn’t sure at the moment.

Techno stood, looking at him confusedly, with a mix of caution and concern. “Ghostbur, what’s the matter?”

“I-”

He looked at Friend. And thought of Fundy. Of Sally. Of Tommy and all his other friends.

Of everyone he had hurt.

Of everyone he had tried to kill.

Of everyone he had never apologized to.

“Look at me!” Techno shouted. “What’s the matter? Ghostbur?”

“I- I-”

Techno took a few steps forward, and Ghostbur’s mind registered it in a half-baked way, and he scrambled back. “BACK OFF!” he shouted.

Techno stopped, eyes a little wide.

Ghostbur took more steps away. “I can’t _hurt_ people anymore. Don’t- don’t-”

“No, _no_. Where do you think you’re going, Ghostbur?’ Techno asked.

Was he moving? He must be moving away. There was no other explanation- but there was? Why were his feet moving away?

_I have to leave. I have to go. I need to go, go, go. GO!_

And suddenly, he was running, running through the forest, far away, not knowing exactly where he was trying to go, or why he was trying to run. There was no reason to- except to get away from people, so he didn’t hurt them.

“GHOSTBUR!” a shout came from behind him, but he paid no attention to it. He just ran, ran until he lost feeling in his legs, until he know longer knew where he was, or where he was going. He recognized nothing, felt nothing, heard nothing but the pounding of feet against ground.

Suddenly, there was water. And there was a cliff. And a beach.

And he skidded to a stop, almost forcefully sitting down on the ground.

The sea was beautiful at sunset.

The world relaxed slightly, and he felt something unclench.  
“I shouldn’t have run away,” he proclaimed to the air.

The air remained silent, which he appreciated.

But there was a lingering question in the air. Maybe it was one lingering for a long time.

_Who are you?_

“M-my name…” he whispered. The world twisted horribly, but remained patient. He inhaled and exhaled, sitting, pulling his legs against his chest quietly, resting his chin on his legs.

“My name is…”

_What is my name? Who am I? Why is it so hard?_

Everything was hard, which sucked. Things really should’ve been easier as a ghost, he reasoned.

He inhaled and exhaled, reaching for the two aspects of himself. He had to make peace now. Or he wouldn’t ever be at peace again.

“My name is Wilbur Soot, the ex-wife of Sally. I am the half brother of TommyInnit, the son of Philza, the friend of Technoblade. I am a traitor, a president, a lover, a leader, a king. I am heartbroken, mind broken, and dead.” said one part of him, the first part that had existed.

And at the same time, the present part of him spoke, minds overlapping as they made peace with the past and the present to better themselves for the future.

“My name is Ghostbur, the father of a son I don’t deserve, a son and a friend to my father, a loyal person who sticks to the cause I believe in, who is trying to fight for the right thing, who wants the best for everyone. I am a brother and a friend, I am trying to fix my mistakes, I am a ghost trying to be different from who I was before.”

“I’m sorry.” They both said.

“We’re sorry.” they said.

He looked at the horizon, then closed his eyes.

“My name is Ghostbur, and I am the ghost of Wilbur Soot. And sometimes I’m sad that I’m dead. But that’s okay.”

He opened his eyes again, and looked at the sunset.

“I want to make people happy. So that’s what I’m going to do now. Because I want to make sure that nobody’s sad. Like me.”

He felt Wilbur Soot sink away, becoming memories once more.

“I’ll remember you, Wilbur. Always. But maybe it’s good to change. And it’s good to learn from the past.”

He could picture his smile. Wilbur’s smile. Their smile.

The sunset was beautiful. He’d always loved it.

He smiled, truly, for the first time in a while.  
“The past wasn’t glorious,” he whispered. Then he smiled.

“But if I work hard, the future’s looking bright.”

“And maybe… I can make sure everyone has a happy ending after all.”

When Technoblade finally came, along with Tommy and Friend, no words were exchanged. Just a deep feeling of understanding.

The two sat on either side of the ghost while Friend found their way onto Ghostbur’s lap.

He ran his fingers through the sheep’s fur, smiling.

“We love you, Ghostbur.” Tommy said.

“And we’re sorry,” Techno said.

“I’m sorry too,” the ghost said. And after a moment’s pause, he responded to the first comment that had been said. “And I love you guys too.”

The three looked at the sunset.

Friend bleated.

Ghostbur smiled.

He was glad to have friends.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh this is my first fic on AO3 ever... I love Ghostbur, this was a random idea that I actually really liked. I hope you guys like it! Tell me what you think, or maybe some suggestions for some other Ghostbur oneshots! This profile is probably going to start out with Dream SMP things!


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